L*st and Death

“Huh?”

Siron stared blankly at the bulge pushing out the front of his pants. Like some alien life form raising its head, the thing made its presence known with a will of its own.

His mind went blank. The sheer unfamiliarity of it shattered his grip on reality. The lingering sensations from the kiss, the shame of that unintentional moan, and the fear of a psychotic man obsessed with alphas and omegas—everything evaporated.

“You’re erect.”

Still unable to touch or ignore the protruding bulge, Siron slowly lifted his head. Isaac was staring straight at the swelling in Siron’s crotch. Following his gaze downward again, Siron saw his cock give a heavy twitch.

A greeting?

It’s been a while. Caught off guard by the polite nod his penis seemed to offer, Siron felt dazed.

After all that silent suffering, the shame, the crushed self-esteem from erectile dysfunction—and now it just healed, just like that? Siron didn’t know if he should be happy. Was joy even appropriate here? He looked up at Isaac, as if asking him to explain how to feel about this.

“Let’s take a look.”

“Excuse me?”

Before he could stop him, Isaac had already undone Siron’s waistband.

“Ah—no. That’s not necessary!”

Isaac paid him no mind. He could’ve calmly unbuttoned the pants and pulled down the zipper—but he didn’t. He ripped them open without hesitation. Siron watched in a daze as the expensive designer trousers lost their button and the zipper broke beyond repair.

But the moment Isaac pulled down both pants and underwear to Siron’s knees and grabbed his cock, reality crashed in.

It had always felt like some fragile bubble he didn’t dare touch—but Isaac handled it like a stick, indifferent and mechanical. The same organ he wouldn’t dare reveal in public restrooms now sat exposed in this man’s grip, small and vulnerable.

“You’ve had a circumcision.”

“Ugh!”

Isaac swept his fingers roughly along the underside of the erect shaft.

“Not a bad shape.”

With a faint trace of amusement in his voice, he ran his thumb softly along the slightly raised vein running up the shaft. Siron, overwhelmed by the tangled weight spreading from his perineum, lost the strength in his legs and tried to sink down. Isaac slipped his hands under Siron’s armpits and lifted him like he weighed nothing, then sat him on the table.

Still holding him, he rubbed both of Siron’s armpits as if applying cream. The sensation was so absurd, Siron involuntarily let out a giggle and shivered. But through the parting in his lips, Isaac’s mouth returned.

“Mmm, mmph—mm, nngh...”

He nibbled lightly at Siron’s panicked tongue, swallowing every drop of saliva that welled up, teasing the underside of his tongue with his own. Siron’s nape prickled with dread. His nerves fired wildly with every parting and meeting of their lips.

Isaac tangled his fingers in Siron’s hair, holding his head in place as he devoured him. The kiss grew rougher. Siron tried to stay calm, swallowed with effort, and pushed back with his tongue in resistance.

But Isaac’s tongue was too thick, too hot, too slick with saliva. It felt like forcing down raw meat that didn’t belong in his mouth. The nausea rose. Siron tried to pull away.

So this is what a kiss really is—disgusting, unbearable. Choking back a gag, he tried to bite Isaac in clumsy defiance. But Isaac only pushed in deeper, rendering his resistance meaningless. He pursued, sucked, chewed—relentlessly consuming Siron.

His stiffened body began to tremble. At last, Isaac pulled his lips away. Then, with that same rough hand, he grabbed Siron’s still-erect cock again.

“Ah!”

Siron’s hips jerked reflexively at the sudden jolt. Isaac looked down at him, then gently shook the shaft like one might offer a formal handshake. It was just one part of his body, and yet Siron felt completely under his control.

Like a child with a toy, Isaac pressed the shaft downward and let go. It sprang up, bouncing in the air with humiliating elasticity. Siron, overcome with shame, quickly covered himself with his hands.

When Isaac’s hand reached for him again, Siron pushed it away and shook his head.

“No!”

“No?”

“Y-yeah.”

“If you don’t want my help, do it yourself.”

“...What?”

Isaac dragged a chair over and sat down directly in front of him—so close, all he had to do was reach out to touch Siron’s lower belly. Straddling the chair backward, arms draped over the wooden backrest, he looked utterly ready to watch.

“You’re already hard. Might as well finish.”

“I-it’s fine. I can make it go away.”

“Touch it. I want to taste your cum.”

Isaac said it so matter-of-factly that it was impossible to tell whether it was a joke or not. Between those long lashes, his deep blue eyes gleamed. That same man who once seemed elegant, intelligent—now made Siron squirm with vulgarity.

“T-that’s a bit...”

“Didn’t you say earlier you knew your place?”

Isaac’s voice turned sharp with warning as Siron hesitated.

“Hurry up.”

With a crooked smile, Isaac scrunched his nose and urged him on.

Siron lowered his head to hide his twisted expression. Bastard. I’ll never forgive you. Muttering under his breath in Korean, a small act of resistance, Siron took a long breath, then hesitantly wrapped his fingers around his half-limp cock.

It felt unfamiliar, misshapen, like some grotesque growth. Siron closed his eyes and imagined being alone in the room, gently stroking his skin.

From the center of fear and shame, pleasure began to surge. Siron realized—he was a captive, sexually humiliated for someone else’s viewing pleasure. The horror of that finally became real.

There was no going back. The moment he brushed aside his suspicions, he had already plunged headlong into the abyss.

Tears gathered and fell onto the backs of his hands. Sniffling, panting, he moved faster. Though Isaac was physically a step away, his breath, his gaze, surrounded Siron like a thick fog.

And even with the mechanical stimulation—arousal came. A sensation he hadn’t felt in ages: pleasure from the front.

“Ahh!”

Suddenly, a warm hand wrapped around both his cock and his own hand. Siron’s eyes flew open. Isaac’s rough hand gripped him tight and began stroking him back and forth. It felt like raw flesh being rubbed down to the nerves—painful, hot, and unbelievably intense. Siron couldn’t control himself. His hips twisted, buttocks tensing, and in a helpless spasm, he came into Isaac’s hand.

Siron cracked open his eyes and looked down. His semen was splattered across Isaac’s palm. His first erection and ejaculation in over four years—wasted in the most terrifying, pathetic way.

Isaac looked down at the white mess in his hand, then clenched and opened his fist. Bringing it close to his face, he inhaled deeply. Again, and again. His expression was thoughtful, as if lost in some deeper contemplation. Not the face of someone getting off on forcing a victim to masturbate for amusement.

“I can’t detect any pheromones.”

He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Siron wiped the tears from his eyes, careful not to reveal even a trace of hope.

“R-right? You... don’t feel anything?”

“It might be a failure.”

Failure. The word rang with doom. Siron imagined his failed-experiment body cut into pieces, divided into garbage bags, thrown away in pieces. He shook his head so hard his cheeks quivered, scrambling to convince Isaac he was still valuable.

“Th-that’s not possible! It’s probably just too early since the injection!”

“Maybe so...”

“If not me, who else could be an omega? No one can adapt like I can!”

Isaac watched Siron’s desperate survival instinct without much reaction. Then, like a wine connoisseur analyzing the spices in a sauce, he licked the semen from his fingertips. His expression wrinkled with seriousness. Siron recoiled—his face twisted before he could stop it, ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) then quickly corrected itself.

“You’re right. For now, we can only wait and see if you manifest as an omega.”

Siron had no idea what “manifesting as an omega” even entailed. But he nodded eagerly.

“Right. If we wait, something will happen.”

And maybe a chance to escape, too.

While Isaac was lost in thought, Siron carefully pulled his pants back up and slid down from the table. He tried not to draw any attention to himself. Moving slowly so the chain wouldn’t clink, he tried to slip away toward the corner—but Isaac’s eyes were already following him.

Siron asked with a voice trembling from fear.

“...Can I rest now?”

“Wait. I’m going to stimulate you.”

Siron stared at him, stunned—like he'd just been slapped in the face.

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